


fat bottomed girls (you make the rockin' world go round)

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Feeding Kink, Like wow a lot, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Weight Gain, copious donut eating, fucking battle me, internalized kinkshaming, jons there for two seconds but i tagged him anyway, martin is happy to oblige especially bc he has no idea whats going on skfjdjf, oh god this is SO self indulgent, so like.... never enough chubby kink fic right, sooo i wrote some soft wish fulfillment, this is my biggest kink and theres never good fic of it, tim being a service top is canon, tim loves pudgy boys n hes VALID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Every Friday morning, Tim Stoker gets up and puts on a tacky buttonup and his Chelsea boots. Every Friday morning, he goes to the Tesco three bus stops down from the one in front of the institute. Every Friday morning, he buys a baker’s dozen of Krispy Kreme donuts and a copy of Architect’s Journal.And every Friday morning, he sets them down eagerly on his desk while he whirs in anticipation for his... well. His entertainment.Oh, yeah, the entertainment is watching his coworker and friend Martin Blackwood eat all the donuts he buys throughout the day without noticing. Did he forget to mention that? He always forgets to mention that.----basically i think chubby martin deserves more appreciation n tim does too
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 133
Collections: Anonymous





	fat bottomed girls (you make the rockin' world go round)

**Author's Note:**

> hi lol soooo i cant stop writing tma porn its a disease. but yeah whenever i go on fic tags (which is often) i can never find any good fic for this specific kink that i think feels realistic in its portrayal or isnt intensely uncomfortable to read so i just projected on tim for however many words bc Having Socially Taboo But Harmless Kinks Is Weird Feeling Sometimes. 
> 
> lets make some things clear abt how i operate the rules of my weight gain kink. im not into immobilization, extreme obesity, or extremely nonconsensual feeding, so by my logic neither is timmy boy. i just like chubby ppl yall!!! i dont have any desire to strap someone to a bed and funnel feed them for years (maybe once or twice, though. little as a treat.) the way tims acting in this fic is a little Interesting if u think abt people being watched nonconsensually for sexual gratification and if youre sensitive about the topic of weight or unintentional weight gain PLEASE stay safe, this might not be for you. but this is fanfiction and its not exactly dead dove so ill shut up now, enjoy ur magnus porn kiddos

Working in an office was, quite honestly, something Tim has never really fully reconciled with. He still feels like the idealistic college student, hoping to write novels and publish stories after he'd worked his way up the corporate ladder and made connections. He'd honestly assumed that he’d only be there for four years, at most. The fact that not only had he quit his already well-worn office job in an attempt to gain some closure in light of... certain events- he had also promptly then fallen into another office job, and started the promotional ascendance over... it’s very frustrating. 

So now he works in the archives of the Magnus Institute, and listen, Tim loves his coworkers, really does, but. He’s, hah. More than a little distracted, as of late. Enough that he forgets to hate working at an office job, at least. Because now, Tim has a routine. Better, Tim has _entertainment_.

Every Friday morning, Tim Stoker gets up and puts on a tacky buttonup and his Chelsea boots. Every Friday morning, he goes to the Tesco three bus stops down from the one in front of the institute. Every Friday morning, he buys a baker’s dozen of Krispy Kreme donuts and a copy of Architect’s Journal. 

And every Friday morning, he sets them down eagerly on his desk while he whirs in anticipation for his... well. His entertainment.

What does a man like Timothy “Danger” Elizabeth Stoker like to entertain himself with? This is something you may be curious about, may even be asking yourselves. The answer may surprise you. It sure as hell surprised him.

He supposes it might’ve been more obvious than he thought, maybe. Tim had loved swimming, as a kid, loved being in the water and feeling the rush in his ears and the burn in his chest on the bad days. The way it felt to be a part of the team. And the boys he swam with, well. Swimming was... a very inclusive sport. He’d often catch appreciative glances in the locker room, tease just a little too much in the showers, but that wasn’t the end of it. Tim had always been sort of tall and solid in a narrow way that left him pleasingly broad and still almost all warm, smooth planes of muscle, even if he didn’t look it. But swimming isn’t like football, doesn’t require lanky quick-footed lads who can weave their way upfield. Tim’s teammates ranged greatly in age, race, class... 

Weight... right, okay, so he might he dancing around that particular bit. But it was embarrassing, okay? The way he caught himself in high school staring at the heavyset, awkward blokes who’d joined for easy phys ed credit felt nothing short of creepy. He wasn’t quite sure what it was that drew him, but lord, he was drawn. The slowest boys, ones with bellies that spill over the tight trunks, ones whose thighs rubbed together in their warmup pants, who always had snacks after practice. And _oh_ , how Tim had loved watching them eat snacks. Pom bears, meatball subs , all the types of things Tim would sit gazing intently at from the corner of his eye as he dried off his hair or took off a swimcap, just. Watching. Enjoying how happy and content they looked, the tense, frenetic knowledge that it was all going to their bum, their spare tires, their soft hips that watching gave him. But he was always careful to look away before they noticed; Tim knew better. He... he just knew better.

In college and throughout his tenure at the publishing house, he’d roomed with a few of his friends in a flat that was barely big enough for the men staying in it. He learned the freshman fifteen didn’t exactly affect him, high as his metabolism was, but his friend Virgil... Hm. He’d always been a cute one, a little on the thicker side of svelte, but as he’d gotten used to the unstoppable desire of newly adult manchildren to order take in and pizza at every given opportunity, he’d certainly. Ahem. Filled out. Tim had walked in on him trying to button a pair of much-too-tight jeans and swore he felt himself get a head rush from how quickly the blood rushed out of his face. Yeah, that had been a great shower. 

Maybe the watching was part of it, maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t exactly have the thinnest nosy bitch streak, after all. But whatever the reason, whether it be outstanding mental preoccupation with body image or a voyeuristic need to _watch_ someone lose control or just a stupid kink, Tim was almost sure it had never been satisfied as thoroughly as being an Archival Assistant satisfied him. 

Oh, yeah, the entertainment is watching his coworker and friend Martin Blackwood eat all the donuts he buys throughout the day without noticing. Did he forget to mention that? He always forgets to mention that. 

This particular September morning, Tim breezes in wearing a paisley shirt and his usual suede Chelseas with his assortment on his arm feeling particularly pleased with himself. He’d managed to get the coupons for the confectionary clipped out of his paper over the course of the last week, and now he gets to reap his spoils. A right grandmum thing to do, and cheap at that, but Tim enjoyed the anticipation he built with each _snip_ of the paper, knowing what they were going towards. Creepy, admittedly, but. 

He pushes away the thought as he places them down on the counter of the breakroom, grabbing a napkin out of a container and quickly picking out the maple bar for his dear friend. His sweet, adorable, unassuming, unbearably hot friend. He pushes that away too as he starts heading into the actual office. 

“Happy Friday!” Tim called cheerily, strolling casually over to his absolute mess of a desk and shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. Martin’s already here, of course, he’s always the first assistant in so (he can bring Jon tea) he can get a headstart on work. “Got breakfast for you.” 

“Hiya,” Martin absently replies. He’s working on some spreadsheet or another on the dinosaur of a Dell laptop he still insisted on using. Perfect, distracted, that means he’ll reflex-eat. God, it’s weird he notices shit like that, isn’t it? It has to be.

Martin’s freckled face lights up at the sight of the treat and he takes it eagerly, and oh, that really does something for Tim. Christ. At least this shirt is long, because this is going to be A Day. “Oh, uh, thanks! That’s... that’s really nice of you, actually. I was going to wait for Sasha to get in to make tea, if you don’t mind.” He’s already taking a bite, and the way he does it isn’t even dramatic but just seeing Martin _eat_ is enough to flip Tim’s stomach belly up. God, he wants to die. He wants to hand feed him. He wants to sit the fuck down. 

He does sit the fuck down, spouting off some vaguely funny acceptance and wiggling his mouse to wake up his computer monitor. Tim shoots another sideways glance at Martin as the fan whirs to life and sees him taking his second to last bite- god, he must’ve been _hungry_. He snaps his gaze back to his computer and tries to ignore how hot that is, because it’s too early and he knows it’s worth the wait. Especially in this gloomy weather, and especially when Tim has full control over how warm it gets in the office and how sleepy Martin gets when he’s full since the thermostat is nearest to his desk. He’s so, so ready for today.

Sasha eventually gets in and Tim can stop pretending he’s not waiting for Martin to go into the break room and make tea, because Martin gets up (Tim pretends he doesn’t notice how his shitty office chair depressurizes when the blond gets off of it) and does just that. Tim greets Sasha with his usual easy banter, and they talk for a time about nothing in particular (Love Island) until Martin’s walking back into the room, arms full of tea and another donut. Tim’s... pleased. When he goes into the kitchen later to put his mug in the sink, he’ll see Martin’d eaten another while he was steeping their tea orders, and the pleasure would double. 

Tim sips on his chai as he watches Martin work his way through the next one, taking small, appreciative bites as he types numbers and notes with his off hand. That’s one thing Tim likes about watching Martin: he’s such a grateful eater. He’ll eat anything you put in front of him, give you back a clean plate, thank you for the meal. It’s incredibly adorable. Tim takes advantage of it often as he can. He deserves that much, and after all, doesn’t everyone love a generous coworker? 

Adorable doesn’t even begin to describe Martin, though, honestly. The words _’just his type’_ are also on the list. He’s about a meter and a half tall, just a bit over, and _so_ soft. His jumpers, his curly blond hair, his round middle, all of it. He‘s just soft and sweet and kind and Tim is almost convinced he was put here just to distract him. He gets so flushed when you tease him, and Tim does that often enough. He bites his tongue between his two front teeth when he laughs. His hair is never quite neat no matter what he does with it.

... His hips are doughy and wide and Tim’s helplessly obsessed with how they curve. Goddamn it, yep, still weird and gay. 

Then Jon comes in and Tim has to actually work instead of staring at his terribly attractive co-assistant. 

Lunch, though, is there sooner than Tim thinks it should be and he’s watching Martin polish off two more donuts after eating his sad microwave mac n cheese. Tim‘s picking at his chicken marsala, deciding whether or not taking off the crust is too kiddy for a man working a deskjob, and doing a pretty swell job of hiding that he’s ogling the other man with a gaze that could melt through steel. That’s five donuts, now, seven more to go, and he suddenly is struck with a truly inspired idea.

“Bet you can’t eat all those donuts.”

“What, really?” Martin’s shocked face is out of intrigue and not suspicion, thank god. “And what if I can?”

“Then you, Martin dear,” Tim says gravely, “get bragging rights.” He fixes Martin with a challenge in his stare, which he rolls his eyes at even as he gets up. No one can deny a bet from Tim. 

God, this is going to be good. He feels the familiar prickle at his neck that he’s at least 70% sure is excitement and not the acute feeling of being watched, of being Known. Pushes it away. Martin’s bringing the box of donuts over to the table, along with... fuck. A glass of milk. He knows they kept food in here because Martin is so intent on leaving ample amounts for Jon to eat when he stays in the archives overnight, but the fact he gets to watch the man wash everything down with his little mug of milk is... god, it’s such a treat. He doesn’t know why. He never knows why. 

“Right, so, all of them?” Martin’s voice cuts through his reverie and he shakes it off, crossing his ankles under the seat and excitedly scooting his chair closer to the table with hands pulling from in between his legs. He sounds like he’s somewhere between amused and indifferent, used to Tim being silly and daring you to do strange things. He rolls his eyes as the taller man scoots forward, though, his long legs tangling up under him. There’s a profound twinkle in his eyes that makes Martin’s stomach flutter under his peter-pan collar and brown, ‘80s patterned jumper. He sits up a bit straighter.

“Yep, all of ‘em, Marto. Think you’re up for it?” 

Martin huffs. “Of course I can.” Probably. Maybe. He’s not sure he can eat that much in front of someone else, even Tim. Maybe especially Tim, who’s lean and just a wee bit gangly in all the places Martin’s round and squeezable. But they’re friends, and Tim had bought these, had even _asked_ , sort of. Which... hm. You know what. 

“Well. Go on then.” Tim shuts up for once, seemingly on the edge of his seat as he waits for Martin to start. Okay. Uh. Yeah. He can do this.

One, two, and three go down easily under Tim’s playful watch, and Martin knows he probably _is_ going to be able to do this, thank god. He doesn’t like being a glutton for punishment, no matter how things were going vis a vis his current managerial relations. But the way Tim’s just... looking, drinking it up, is so uncanny. He’s never seen Tim look at anyone like this before. 

It’s only a little bit hot.

He ignored this train of thought and takes a drink of his own from his mug. It’s nice and cold, and it washes away the sweetness of the apple fritter he just polished off. There’s two classic glazed donuts left, a jam filled glazed one, and another maple bar. He giggles and looks up at Tim. “How’d you know maple bars ‘re my favorite?” 

“They’re always the first ones you grab in the morning,” Tim replies absently, eyes fixed on the way Martin’s pudgy fingers look with the granulated sugar of the last cinnamon twist sticking to the ends of them. Martin catches his eye’s target and, without thinking, lifts his fingers to suck the sweetness away as non-provocatively as possible. Tim’s eyes follow and anchor on his lips as he does it as if hypnotized. 

“R-right. Um. Very observant.” He’s going for cheerful, but it falls flat and he stuffs a glazed fried dough circle into his mouth to stop the words that are threatening to start spewing out- _’why are you staring at me- ME- like that?’ ‘Why do you remember that?’ ‘Why are you watching me eat like it’s the most interesting thing in the world?’_. Tim just keeps watching like a man possessed. He is so fucking hard. Christ. 

“Three left.”

“Muh-hm.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

Martin gives him a sardonic glare and pointedly swallows the first half, then immediately finishing the second half. He looks quite happy with himself. He grabs the next, does the same. Oh, lord but his button is not happy about this. He undoes the front button of his trousers and Tim pretends he doesn’t black out for a second. Skinny jeans, while they do rather flatter his bum and have great hand-painted pockets thanks to a one Sasha James, were not a good choice for today. Maybe he should ask Martin where he got his mom jeans, which are now open because they got too tight on him and _christ_. 

Two left. Only two. He says as much and Martin shoots him the same look. Drinks half of the rest of his milk. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and makes eye contact with Tim for the first time. It’s... way too fucking intense for a dare between mates. Right. The jellied donut’s next and it’s a little bigger, but he gets it down in four bites. He sighs, and Tim’s almost sure he’s going to rub his aching belly but he (unfortunately) doesn’t and instead just picks up the last maple donut. He almost offers half to Tim, but one look at his keen expression says he’s dead set on Martin doing this singlehandedly and leaves very little room for argument. Okay. _Last one_. Then... back to his desk. Back to work. Yeah. 

He finishes the maple bar and the mug quickly, efficiently, and he stands up to go back into the office. Tim stands, too, hands very deep in his pockets. 

“Told you I could.”

“Don’t be bitchy,” Tim says, and his eyes tell Martin he’s mostly joking. “Bragging rights are all yours, mate.” 

“Great. Well. Back to work.” Martin shifts from foot to foot, eyeing how Tim licks his lips as he sees where Martin’s open fly is pressing under the wool of his jumper.

“Yes. Back to work.” 

—-

They do not go back to work. They somehow find themselves in the abandoned copy room outside the archives front door, Martin lying on a sofa that just sort of appeared to be there. Jon really did use this place as a second home. Tim’s straddling him, and soon he’s leaning down to kiss the bigger man. 

“Wanna eat you out,” Tim says, because they’ve done this a few times before and he knows Martin loves it and he’s not about to deny himself that. 

“Mm, here?”

“Why not?”

“...” 

Neither of them answer that, and Martin moves on. “Well, I suppose it’s better than... the alternative, right now.”

“Yeah?” Tim looks like he want him to continue.

“Yeah. I’m... I’m kind of full,” he confesses, and fuck, he can feel Tim’s dick twitch against his hip. He... he really doesn’t want to ask, right now. Hot guy. On top of him. Offering to suck him off. 

“Gotcha. Right then, trousers off.” The trousers are offed and the print of small, prancing cows on his briefs is revealed. _Adorable_. He takes a second to appreciate how Martin’s stomach makes three delicious rolls when he sits up with his shirt tucked under his chin. His bangs are a mess in his eyes as he spreads his legs wider to let Tim see his dick peeking out from his other thatch of curls, and if it wasn’t clear already as to why Tim’s hand came away wet from his pants it was clear now. Martin can’t help the small keening whimper he gives.

Tim groans, still not taking his clothes off. “Fuck, _please_ sit on my face.”

Martin’s eyes widen and he yelps out a, “w-what?” No fucking way. “Tim, not on a sofa! And anyway, I’m miles too heavy for that!” 

“Are not,” Tim says, but he abandons the request for another time and buries his nose in the patch of blonde, taking Martin in and sucking as best he can while the other man’s bucking above him. Testosterone makes it really sensitive sometimes for Martin, apparently. Thick thighs come up to cover Tim’s ears and now he’s just here, just centered, between a pretty person’s legs and making them feel good and other kinks or not, that’s hot enough. Tim licks down into him, tongue pointed and then flat, pressing out and in and licking up and down without end. His hands are on Martin’s hips and he knows he’s probably grabbing hard enough to bruise but Martin’s hands pulling right on his hair makes him decide it’s fair game. He tries to speed up, listening intently as Martin whines and gasps at certain angles as he’s sucking at his cunt and running fingers up and down his swollen, aching dick. It’s too much at the best of times, and Martin’s thighs are like a vice around Tim’s head. He’s so, so close, Tim’s hands possessive and heavy and he’s so, so full, and he eeks out a, _”fuck,”_ looks down at Tim’s bobbing head, his fingers rubbing familiar circles in the fatty parts of his hips. His legs tighten impossibly more around Tim’s ear as he finishes, dick twitching against Tim’s cheek as he drags his head up to rest on Martin’s tummy.

They lay for a moment in companionable silence, getting their breathing under control before Tim asks, “stomach still hurt?”

“Mhm.” 

“Want me to help with that?” 

“What d’you mean?” 

In response Tim rubs the palm of his hand into the plush of his belly, grabbing and kneading and rolling as gently as can be and Martin absolutely doesn’t moan and squirm at how nice it feels, how much it relieves the pressure. He ignores he’s grinding mindlessly against Tim’s leg, because fuck it, this is _nice_ , and Tim’s looking at him like- like he’s attractive. Like the way he‘s built isn’t just something to overlook, like it’s something to _want_. Sure, it’s a bit weird Tim watches him eat when he thinks Martin doesn’t notice, but it’s... sweet? 

He says this in a breathless rush to Tim in his post-climax, bellyrub haze and Tim just chuckles, rubbing more, kissing Martin’s forehead tenderly. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Get used to it. If this is where feeding you gets me, get ready.”

“You’re going to get me so fat,” he whines breathily, and he didn’t even expect Tim to hear but he does and grins wickedly, pinching one of Martin’s love handles and kissing his nose. His dick jumps again. Martin doesn’t pretend not to notice, and instead grinds against him more. 

“Count on it. I’ll play nice, though, to start. Can’t have you not able to do field research for _Jon_.” He says it in a knowing tone, and Martin squirms in his grip, harrumphing at the weaponisation of the name. “But... a stone and a half? C’mon, you’d look great.” 

Martin snorts. “That’s, uh, definitely a you thing.”

Tim looks like he’s hiding embarrassment behind his affront, but he nuzzles into Martin’s neck and keeps massaging his belly in a way that feels just perfect and he dismisses it. “Just think you’d look cute,” he mumbles into the crook of Martin’s shoulder, and his hand finally stills as Martin’s comes to rest on top of it. They’re quiet for a second before Martin starts sitting up and Tim takes the hint, wiping his mouth off with the bottom of his shirt and grinning cheekily at Martin as he reaches over the edge of the couch to retrieve his pants and then, a moment later, his jeans. 

Once they’re both dressed and messing with their own hair to make it look regular messy instead of sex messy, pretending not to feel that ever present prickle, Martin tries to finish the abandoned conversation. “Well, I, uh, like eating, so... you know. No complaints here.” He laughs nervously, and the way Tim looks at him tells him he’s going to be taken at his word. It’s then he looks down and sees the wet spot on Tim’s jeans, just barely peaking out from under his long shirt. _”Tim!”_

“Huh? Oh yeah, uh.” He joins Martin’s gaze before shrugging, pulling the shirt down a little and grinning in an insufferably charming way. “In my defense, you were quite hot.” 

Martin snorts again at this and swats his shoulder, making for the door and leaving Tim to take a nice gander at his rear as he goes. Does he know? Is he letting this happen for his own satisfaction? He’ll never tell. Tim follows soon after, though, and catches the door for the shorter man on the way out.

“Back to work for real then?” 

“Suppose so.”

And as they settle back into their neighboring desk areas, Martin flushed a dusty pink, Tim with his usual goofy swagger, and start settling back into their afternoon routine, he cant help but feel inordinately pleased with himself. 

If he’d known _this_ is what they meant by office romance, sign him the fuck up.


End file.
